


Work it Out

by Jrade



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, If you answered "me" then this may not be the fic for you XD, Just at the end >.>, Kinda, Kissing, Mostly buildup, Prompt Fill, Teasing, Weight Lifting, Who doesn't like muscles?, exercise, workout routine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jrade/pseuds/Jrade
Summary: Zarya goes to the gym pretty frequently, but she's never seen it as empty as today. Rain will do that, though. However, she doesn't end up getting a workout alone - she bumps into somebody she knows, a man by the name of Reinhardt Wilhelm, and his travelling companion as well....and if there's one thing Zarya appreciates, it's a strong and confident redheaded Swede. If there are two things she appreciates? Well, that would need to be the two arms of said Swede.





	Work it Out

Aleksandra “Zarya” Zaryanova was well-known for many things. Proud defender of her people, Protector of Russia, Olympic athlete and self-styled Strongest Woman in the World.

This was not to say that she didn’t have an appreciation for anyone else. When she went to the gym - as she did often - she regularly looked out at the crowds. Both to see their stares of amazement, and to appreciate their abilities as well.

Today had initially been disappointing. Nobody else was here. It was raining outside, yes, but she still didn’t expect it to be so _very_  empty.

On the upside, it meant a better workout.

She turned up her music much louder, the armband that held her player stretching tight around bulging biceps. For a change, she decided to start with some freeweights - nothing too heavy, just fifty pounders to start with, but rather making use of the long wall of mirrors and focusing more on her own form as she worked.

There was more to it than just grabbing a heavy thing and picking it up (although that _did_ have its fun aspects) - she watched with a small, sharp grin as she did a very slow set of side-lifts. Her muscles bulged and rippled under her skin, twitching at key points where strain was handed off from one cluster to another. At the top of the lift, she did a bit of a wrist curl, just for some added pep.

She was so focused on her slow movements that she didn’t notice the doors open. Her music was up high enough that she didn’t hear the soft chatter of voices, but then something cut right through the music as she heard a man’s massive booming laugh.

A _familiar_ massive booming laugh.

Zarya dropped the weight she was holding to the ground - it fell with a heavy thunk, not bouncing at all as she turned to look in the direction of the noise, tugging her earbuds free.

“Reinhardt?” She grinned and laughed. “Fancy seeing you here, old man! Decided to try to bulk up a bit?”

Reinhardt’s deep laugh echoed forth again as he clapped a meaty hand to his belly. “Oh, yes! Of course I did - for our arm wrestling match!”

“Ahh,” Zarya tipped her head with a smirk, stretching her hands out to the sides and bowing slightly. “Well, I am ready when you are, old man!”

Her eyes flicked to his companion, briefly. She was already occupying herself setting up a barbell; long reddish hair, broad shoulders, well-defined arms. One of Zarya’s quirked up just slightly. “Who is she?”

Reinhardt glanced over his shoulder and let out another laugh. “Ah, that is Brigitte! She is an old friend - and a very skilled mechanic! Not to mention…” he smirked at Zarya, “the strongest woman I have ever arm-wrestled.”

Zarya’s eyes narrowed dangerously and she held out a finger in warning. “Be careful what you say, old man.” Her lips split into a grin as she stepped past him, toward the newcomer Brigitte.

She was knelt down, sliding plates easily into place on the barbell, and Zarya watched her for a moment with her arms crossed. It was an ambitious amount of weight that she was piling on.

“Careful you don’t get hurt,” Zarya murmured.

Without looking up, Brigitte responded, “Oh, I could use a spotter, yeah. Thanks!”

A smirk hit Zarya’s lips as she heard Reinhardt’s chuckle from behind her, and the telltale rattle and clunk of the weight machines. “I prefer the free weights, myself,” she explained without taking her eyes off of Brigitte’s setup. “It requires more thought. More control. Dead lift? Bench?”

“Hmm, I was thinking dead, but if you want to track down some more plates I could give the bench a try.” For the first time, Brigitte looked up from the weights - the collars on tight now - and offered a hand to be shaken. “Brigitte Lindholm. Nice to meet you.”

“I recognize _half_ of the name,” Zarya muttered in mild distaste, taking the offered hand and gripping it tightly. She grinned a little when Brigitte returned the gesture, a firm handshake that had the muscles on her arm standing out higher under the skin. “I am Aleks-”

“Pretty sure everyone in a gym anywhere would recognize you, Zarya,” Brigitte snickered.

The Russian bodybuilder-turned-soldier tossed her head back for a laugh. “Aha! It is good to have your reputation precede you - now, go on. I will give you some tips if you need them!”

Brigitte chuckled, half-rolling her eyes. “Thanks, but I think I’ve got this.”

 _Oh, we will see about that._ Zarya said nothing, though, only thought her slightly doubtful thoughts and smiled, and stood at the ready as Brigitte took her position.

It was a good position. Good form, feet well planted. Zarya’s eyebrow started to raise as Brigitte took her hold and it skyrocketed as the redhead lifted the barbell to her waist, then her chest, then up over her head.

Brigitte huffed out a bit of a breath, holding the weight and flashing Zarya a grin. “Well? How’s my form?”

Zarya couldn’t help if her eyes wandered a little - she liked muscles, and Brigitte certainly had plenty of them. The rain hadn’t hurt matters either, not in the slightest; wet fabric clung tightly to her skin and only accentuated the bulges and curves that spoke to her strength.

“Impressive,” Zarya muttered, nodding idly. Brigitte laughed slightly, beaming in delight, and let the weight back down to the ground. “Put another pair of twenty-fives on there and I might give it a try.”

“Only two?” Brigitte smirked.

 _“Per side,”_ Zarya retorted with narrowed eyes. It was clear to her, though, that this was all in good fun - it wasn’t safe to _legitimately_ try to out-lift each other, but she knew her own limits. Even though she’d only known Brigitte for a span of a few moments, she trusted that the Swede would know her own as well.

Brigitte kindly set up the plates as Zarya stretched a little and Reinhardt’s weight machine continued to clank in the background.

It was an easy enough lift, but Zarya didn’t watch herself in the mirror. Rather, her eyes were on the redhead who watched her, instead - she’d always liked performance and the attention it brought. That was _part_ of it.

Definitely not all of it, though.

They continued on in largely the same fashion - Reinhardt stayed on the same machine, endlessly cranking out reps with the weight dialled to maximum, but Zarya and Brigitte jumped around the entirety of the empty gym, swapping tips and snarky comments.

“Oh, is that how the children are holding weights these days?” Zarya quipped, when Brigitte adopted an unconventional stance with the dumbbells (and promptly blushed a little).

“Come on! Cardio’s not _that_ hard!” Brigitte grinned shamelessly over to a red-faced Zarya on the treadmill, traveling at only half the speed of Brigitte’s.

“You might be able to outrace me on the flats,” Zarya grunted on the stationary bikes, wiping sweat from her brow as she dialled up the resistance even higher, “but _nobody_ bests me in the mountains!”

They traded off “wins” and “losses”, and Zarya was pleased and legitimately surprised to find that she didn’t mind the losses. She didn’t even _think_ of them as losses, even though they were. She’d never been a good loser, even in things that didn’t matter - maybe _especially_ in things that didn’t matter.

If somebody beat her in the Olympics, that was a shame and she would _feel_ ashamed for months to come, but at least it was understandable. It was an intense competition - she should expect that, if _(if)_ somebody were able to be stronger than her, it would be someone at an international gathering of the world’s most elite weight lifters.

Other losses, though, were oddly harder to bear. Losing a contest of darts, even though she didn’t _care_ about darts - if she made the mistake of entering into a contest of it, she would inevitably end up infuriated if she lost.

Yet, losing to Brigitte didn’t seem to matter. At first it was things like the treadmill, which Zarya could scoff off anyway. She knew her strengths.

Then, though, Brigitte started to hold her own in other avenues, other areas of the gym, and Zarya found herself not being upset. In fact, quite the opposite, she found herself _excited_ by it.

“Go on,” she urged, fist clenched and grin wide, “you can do it!”

“I-” Brigitte strained, knuckles white around the bar as it rested in its cradle. “I don’t know if I can!”

“You _can!”_ Zarya leaned in closer, laying a hand on Brigitte’s shoulder. “I believe in you. You _can_ do this - focus. Believe in yourself. You _can_ do this. You can do nothing else. You cannot fail.”

Brigitte nodded in time with the assurances, timing her breaths and testing the bar again - it seemed as if it was welded into the cradle, and that shouldn’t have been any surprise, because they had attached every single plate in the gym onto the ends of the bar.

Had it not been made out of nigh-indestructible alloys (that she knew her father Torbjörn to be fond of for his machines), it would have bent and likely snapped under the load.

Zarya believed in her, though. She was actually standing _right there_ and cheering her on, and after a few moments (and some very deep breaths) Brigitte started to believe it too.

“I _can_ do this,” she grunted to herself through gritted teeth, eyes streaking through with steely determination. “I can _do_ this!”

Her arms strained, muscles standing out not just along them but all over her - up her neck, through her core, even her legs tensed up as her body tried to contribute every tiny scrap of strength it had and somehow dedicate it all to the unified purpose of lifting that barbell.

It rattled in its cradle. Brigitte groaned. The barbell lifted - a hair, and then an inch, as Brigitte’s groan grew into a growl and Zarya laughed triumphantly, and then Brigitte let the weight fall back down into the cradle.

“Yes!” Zarya clapped her hand into one of Brigitte’s, holding it tight and shaking it slightly. “You did it! I knew you could!”

“Ha! That- that makes one of us!” The redhead pulled herself upright using Zarya’s hand and wiped at her head. The crosshatched knurl of the barbell was pressed into her palms and she shook her head a bit, grinning down at the impression in her skin.

Then she looked up to the other woman - she’d been an inspiration for a long time. Brigitte would have suggested that probably anybody who did much in the way of working out had at least some level of respect for Aleksandra Zaryanova, but there was more to it than just that, as well.

It wasn’t just that Zarya was strong. It was that she was strong, she was capable, she was protective - and she was entirely and unapologetically herself. Strong not just physically, but inside of herself as well, and Brigitte liked that quite a lot.

She’d been a little worried, a couple of hours ago when they’d first met, that reality wouldn’t hold up to her hopes. Luckily, she had proved to be entirely incorrect.

“Thanks,” Brigitte huffed, pink-cheeked and reaching for her water bottle with one hand as the other stayed gripped on Zarya’s. “I never could have done that without you.”

“Probably not,” Zarya smirked, the gesture splitting into a full grin as she chuckled when the redhead flashed her an irritated and knowing look, gulping at her water bottle. “I joke! I joke - you are very impressive, Brigitte.”

“Thanks again,” she gasped another breath and chuckled, wiping at her brow, “but I think I might be about done for the day.”

Zarya nodded, humming slightly as their hands slipped apart and she glanced toward Reinhardt. “What about him?”

Brigitte laughed, waving a hand dismissively as the massive man’s machine continued to clank metronomically. “Oh, he’d be here all day if I let him. Heck, I _might_ let him just so that I don’t have to keep an eye out and keep him out of trouble.”

Laughing, Zarya took a seat on the bench beside Brigitte. “He said… that you are the strongest woman he’s ever arm-wrestled.” She glanced over with a shrug, turning her hands out, palms flat. “I don’t know that it matters… but I must admit that, after seeing your display today, I am curious.”

“Oh yeah?” One of Brigitte’s eyebrows arched high, a grin splitting her face. “Well, who would I be if I passed up a chance as legendary as that, hmm?”

Zarya let out a laugh. “To arm-wrestle the famous Zarya?”

Brigitte’s eyes narrowed and she leaned forward with a smirk. “Or, to _beat_ her.”

At that, the Russian soldier’s grin dropped away to a thin smile with slitted eyes. “Oh, you think so? Hah - well, we will see. We will see you on the floor, after I have mopped it with you!”

“Big words,” Brigitte grinned a little wider, slipping off of the bench and crouching to the ground. She set her elbow down on the padded weight-lifting bench, teeth gleaming in the light as she offered her hand. “Care to back them up?”

“I _always_ back up my words,” Zarya boasted, taking a similar position herself, “and I _never_ back down from a challenge.” She laughed. “Particularly not one I know I will win!”

Brigitte snickered, gripping Zarya’s hand tightly as it met hers - they took a few seconds to shuffle around, to find good positions, to get stable and well set-up.

Neither of them really noticed when Reinhardt’s machine stopped clanking.

“Count of three?”

Zarya nodded. They took turns with the numbers, with her starting. “Three.”

“Two.”

“One!”

“Go!”

Two arms rippled with muscles, tendons standing out sharply in each of their wrists as they tried to get a little bit of a twist, a little bit of an upper hand literally and metaphorically as well. Quickly, though, they both abandoned that tactic - neither of them wanted this to be a battle of cheap tricks. This was about something else entirely.

Zarya took slow, deep, schooled breaths - in through her mouth and out through her nose, jaw tight and lips pulled into a tight smile. She kept her eyes locked on Brigitte’s, which burned right back at her - so determined, so bright, so beautiful.

Their clasped hands shifted a fraction of an inch toward Zarya’s. A fraction of an inch closer to Brigitte winning.

The redhead’s grin grew by a notch at that, the heat of competition flaring within her chest. It burned hot, filled every limb and tingled on every nerve, brought goosebumps to her skin despite the warmth, and it burned a little bit hotter the longer she looked into Zarya’s eyes.

Their hands shifted a degree toward Brigitte’s side. A little bit closer to Zarya winning.

Zarya’s hand tightened up even more, she strained with everything she had - a concerted effort from her core through her shoulder and out her arm to her hand; a single solid line of muscle and strength with which she attempted to overwhelm Brigitte. To overwhelm that daring, capable, strong young-

Their hands shifted back toward Zarya.

Brigitte’s jaw clenched, her wide grin almost desperate now as her breaths started to rush deeper - her other hand had started out flat on the bench, her fingers spread to just provide a solid place for Zarya to set her elbow, but at some point that hand had shifted a little bit. Just a little. Just enough that her thumb now stroked at a tense muscle in the Russian bodybuilder’s arm, just lightly, and Brigitte couldn’t help the way it made her mind-

Their hands slipped in Brigitte’s direction.

Zarya leaned forward just slightly, bringing their faces closer together - a bit of an intimidation tactic, maybe, but then their faces were _closer together_ and she-

The hands slid Zarya’s way.

Brigitte’s eyes widened a little as Zarya leaned in, and she instinctively returned it, not one to be intimidated or to be one-upped, but now they were only half as far apart as when they’d started and-

The hands moved Brigitte’s direction.

“So exciting!”

Two sets of eyes widened slightly as both women realized that, while there were very few people in the gym, they weren’t _precisely_ alone. Neither of them looked away, though - neither one of them wanted to break eye contact in order to glance at their single audience member.

“Reinhardt,” Brigitte hissed through gritted teeth. “You might want to leave.”

“What?” He clapped a hand to his chest. “Just when it’s getting interesting? I want to see who wins!”

“I _think-”_ Brigitte let out a tiny noise, almost a whimper as Zarya’s grin widened and she gained an inch of ground, but then that noise reached Zarya’s ears and the soldier lost everything she’d gained in an instant of distraction. “I think this might be a little bit more than just an arm wrestling match.”

Reinhardt frowned in confusion, scratching his head. “What are you talking about? I don’t see what-”

“Have you never seen flirting before, old man?” Zarya raised an eyebrow, her grin sharpening at the wide-eyed looked that flickered across Brigitte’s face - she tried to take advantage of it, to swing her arm down in a decisive victory.

“Oh no you don’t,” Brigitte muttered, catching the strain and holding her fist still, but she was failing and she knew it - there was only one way out.

Suddenly, with no warning, Brigitte pulled herself forward and caught Zarya’s mouth with hers. Tension against each other’s fists trying to push them into the bench suddenly changed direction a bit, pulling them closer together in a heated kiss.

“Draw?” Zarya proposed when they parted for a gasp of air.

“Draw, yes, good match,” Brigitte murmured swiftly, letting go of Zarya’s hand to catch a fistful of pink-dyed hair instead.

Reinhardt, meanwhile, had developed a sudden and intense interest in the screen of the stationary bikes which were conveniently located in exactly the _opposite_ direction, and he poked and prodded at the screen while trying hard not to hear, and hoping his blush would keep to a minimum.

None of that worked for him in the slightest, and only about twenty seconds later, he loudly announced, “I AM GOING TO THE SAUNA!”

“Good!” Zarya called after him, sitting on the bench and tugging a giggling Brigitte into her lap. “Get out of here, old man! I will appreciate the privacy!”

"Big words," Brigitte giggled, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and raising an eyebrow, grinning wickedly. "Care to back them up?”

Zarya stared back through heavily hooded eyes. “I _always_ back up my words…”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks! This was done really quickly, based off of a uh... I suppose you could say an open tumblr prompt? Somebody said they wanted Brigitte and Zarya doing buff girlfriend things! And uh... well, I had an hour to spare, so I wrote this! I hope you liked it - and I welcome feedback, please! This was a really quick work and a bit experimental for me; no real plan ahead of time, no outline, and uh (if I'm honest) no edits either, so by all means, please let me know if I messed something up so I can fix it!
> 
> EDIT: Also, note, this was written a couple months before Brigitte was released in-game, hahaha, so her characterization might be wildly inaccurate! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you have a good day!


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